His Will Be Done - A Tom Hiddleston as Loki One Shot
by sherekahnsgirl
Summary: Inspired by the picture in the A/N link. Loki and his lover are in a D/s relationship, but every once in a while she actively resists him. This is one of those times. Dominant Loki, D/S, discipline, whipping, forced orgasm, sex, erotica, smut.


A/N: 18+

Mature audiences ONLY!

Inspired by the picture to be found at:

post/55704477820/olololo-hot

This contains two acts of discipline - both of them whippings - sort of. If you don't like that kind of thing, **DON'T READ THIS**!

"Come here, little girl."

His rough growl floated to my ears from where he lay stretched out on his back, arms akimbo, those big hands behind his head, legs bent and wide as always so that it was damned hard to miss that bulge. He was spread out like a long, lean centerfold on our big leather couch, making me want to moan out loud from the mere sight of him, to say nothing of the way his words insinuated themselves into my body, immediately sensitizing my full lips, peaking my nipples and making my breasts swell as they ached for want of his touch, but finding its home where it always did - between legs I did my best not to clench together, knowing my God never missed anything about even my smallest reactions to him.

I hated how easy my body made it for him to seduce me, the bastard.

So I pretended not to hear him - knowing I was doing so at my own peril - turning up the volume on my noise-cancelling headphones - that were definitely not of Loki-cancelling quality, in what I knew would be a vain attempt to drown him out.

Still, a girl had to _try_ to resist him, didn't she?

It wasn't as if he hadn't had me already today.

That was a given.

Before I awoke completely this morning, like a lot of mornings, he'd found his way inside me, awakening me with gentle yet powerful thrusts and fingers that claimed and used every pleasure spot I owned against me. Again in the shower, forced up against the slick, unyielding wall, my breasts mashed uncomfortably flat by him slamming into me from behind as if it had been years rather than mere hours since he'd had me. We hadn't even made it through watching a movie over lunch before he'd abandoned his meal in favor of making one of me, peeling my robe open, his ravenous mouth attaching itself to my clit, those entirely too experienced and knowledgeable hands doing things to me that made me - _ME_ \- blush and brought me to the edge in a humiliatingly short amount of time.

And now, just after dinner, while I was listening to music and surfing the web, he was just lying there languidly on the couch and I knew instinctively that neither of our pursuits was going to last long, considering the looks he was giving me.

"Shall I _compel_ you to obey me, my love?" The warning was purred into my ears - headphones not withstanding - short seconds later. My God was not known for his patience in such matters, and I knew he relished the thought of making me _comply_.

And so did I.

I knew that I was caught, as always and I couldn't suppress the shiver that ran down my back, peaking my nipples on its way and settling heavily between my legs.

I could see him out of the corner of my eye as I did my best to ignore him, continuing to wander aimlessly through Pinterest, pinning things willy-nilly because I couldn't concentrate enough to recognize what I was looking at.

He'd already gotten to me.

Hell, who was I kidding? I lived in a constant state of arousal that he very carefully, very deliberately cultivated, a heightened state I'd ascended to the first time our eyes met almost a year ago - when I'd nearly climaxed in front of everyone at the very public banquet table we were both sitting at just from that slight contact with him - although we weren't sitting very near each other, thankfully. If he'd been able to touch me, even in passing somehow - his long, powerful leg bumping up against mine under the table, perhaps - I would have gone off like a very loud, very well-satisfied rocket.

And I had yet to do anything but climb precariously upwards from there - arousal-wise - ever since.

He was never rough with me - okay, never was a strong word - but rarely, anyway. He didn't need to be. His ways were much more subtle and elegant than that, even when he felt the occasional need to clamped down on me.

But when he was it was unbearably exciting.

As a result, I wasn't godhandled and dragged over to him like some rag doll, although we both knew I certainly could be at any time, if he tired of being denied what he wanted by the sheer audacity of a hundred and mmumphhh pound Midgardian woman.

Instead, I began to feel a familiar pull within me, in three particular - and particularly _delicate_ \- spots: my head, my heart and my pussy, as if he had invisible, gossamer leashes on all of them - and he did, with or without his magicks, but I wasn't about to tell him that - that he controlled with one long finger that he was just beginning to crook towards him.

Just slightly, just enough to tighten up any slack there might have been in them, to remind me quietly and calmly just who it was that I was fucking with.

As if I didn't already know.

But my attachment to him was such that even just the tiniest tug on those reins was more than enough to set my usually well ordered, intelligent mind reeling with thoughts of just what he was going to do to me once he got those beautiful, exquisite hands on me, my heart aching at the idea that we were separated in any way - even just the few feet that we were apart - my nether regions throbbing uncomfortably in a way that compounded the longer I resisted him, craving his touch and no other - to the frustrating extent that not even my _own_ touch could satisfy me any longer.

I knew this from personal experience when I had staged a full-fledged rebellion against his dominance - especially his rule that I was not allowed to pleasure myself without his permission as well as his presence - and I had been taught quite blatantly just how completely he could control me. That was one of the rare times I got a peek at the rougher side of Loki, and although he had made sure that I enjoyed it overall, there were points at which I . . . well, not quite feared for my life, as I had come to trust him implicitly - but there were definitely times that I was afraid of him, when all of that the uncontrollable, raging desire he calmly and calculatedly built within me was just that much more heightened by the frissons of true apprehension that skittered down my spine at his behest - a nipple pinched so hard I thought it was going to come off in his fingers, tremendously powerful swats to my behind - with a leather clad hand - than I had the mental acuity to count and that I knew were going to leave me blatantly marked as his for at least a week or more, the fingers of the other hand that tightened round my neck as I began to struggle for breath while he watched me avidly from beneath those enviably thick, black lashes of his.

And, in a twist I hadn't seen coming, he had done nothing whatever to allay those fears, really, even in the afterglow, as if he was carefully nurturing a part of me that recognized just how afraid of him I really _should_ be, which he could tap into any time he wanted to to remind me just how fragile I was, and just how much restraint he showed around me on a constant basis.

As much as I tried to concentrate on my laptop, I noticed with the taste of defeat in my mouth but could do nothing about the fact that my head turned towards him of its own volition, and I saw that horribly annoying, self-satisfied smirk of his that he knew I _hated_.

Not because it made him look ugly - I didn't think that was possible, really. He was too fucking naturally beautiful, and he knew it.

I hated it because it, too, added that tinge of fear into the mix. I had told him I disliked that look after the first time he'd used it on me and wanted him to promise me he would never do again, and he had merely chuckled indulgently and flat out refused to do so.

And here it was again.

Who was that panting? It couldn't be _me_ , could it? The sound of my own breath rushing in and out of my lungs was deafening to my own ears, headphones falling, forgotten, to the floor.

I couldn't move my eyes from his.

I was lost.

I watched, rapt, as that sensual, sometimes cruel, mouth moved in slow motion, miming my name, and it was almost a completely separate act from the whip sharp - yet somehow still very softly delivered - sound that sssssssnaked into my ear.

" _Mariyah_."

Just that one word was rife with both command and disapproval, and my body clenched in agonized anticipation, teeth worrying my bottom lip nervously.

"N - No, Loki," I moaned, past my humiliation at doing so, but even as I said it I was already standing on my feet and turning to face him. I wanted to go to him _so badly_ ; I was amazed that I had been able to resist this long, but I somehow managed to keep my feet planted firmly on the floor.

I saw the small, indulgent smile flit over his face but then it was gone and I figured I'd imagined it as it was replaced by one that was infinitely more menacing.

"So you have set your will against mine, darling one?" A quiet question that was completely devoid of reproachfulness, and all that much more threatening for it.

I opened my mouth, but couldn't convince anything I was thinking to come out of it, which was probably better for me, anyway. I'd just get myself into even more trouble than I was already in, so I closed it again and concentrated all my efforts on staying put.

He sat up slowly, as if he had all the time in the word, and as far as he was concerned, he did, leaning his forearms on his perpetually spread legs. "I would think you would know by now that you are no match for me in this area, but then, I believe I have mentioned to you that, occasionally, whether you wanted to acknowledge it or not, you would need me to be . . . more stern with you than I might usually be."

Oh, dear God, no. I did _not_ want that.

 _I didn't_.

And yet I continued to resist him as he increased - incrementally - his pull on me, watching me intently, as he always did.

I could _feel_ his eyes on me.

I could feel how much he wanted me to obey him, feel the pressure in those sensitive areas he had commandeered within me increasing to a truly unbearable level.

But, even stronger, I could feel how much he adored the fact that I was defying him, making him literally _swell_ with the need to correct me.

To be _strict_ with me.

To hurt me.

To bring me stark, naked pain that I wouldn't know what to do with, or how to get away from.

And to make me crave exactly that from him, almost more than I did his tender loving side.

I watched with a certain amount of dread as he raised his hand - just slightly - enough so that I could watch as he didn't just crook his finger, but curled it into his fist entirely in one smooth move. I instantly found myself not jerked, not tugged but glided very quickly across the relatively short distance between us, the intense pleasure and pressure in those particular areas over which he maintained that unusual control increasing by leaps and bounds. My clothes melted from my body and his usual uniform - which he knew I particularly liked - was draped over him at the same time, so that when our bodies met and I was slammed up against a leather and metal covered brick wall with an impact that shook me to the core.

And he gave me no time to recover, one hand coming up to cup the back of my neck as he held me still for his kiss while the other tried to claim the area between my legs, although I had just enough presence of mind - or was that actually insanity, instead? - to clench them together against him.

His soft chuckle at my further rebelliousness - however futile - ended his marauding kiss as he caught my eye, tilting his head down a bit, the smile disappeared from his face as if it had never been as I felt my legs being separated even though he hadn't moved a muscle.

"Ask for it, woman. Beg your God to claim that which by your own words is already his. Beg me to fuck you with my fingers, to flick your clit with my thumb, to bring you the ecstasy that only I can give you."

I bravely - bravely? - raised an eyebrow at him. "Wow, Loki, insecure much?" For added measure, I narrowed my eyes at him and clamped my jaws shut with a loud click that I made damned sure he could hear.

The next second I was on the couch, on my hands and knees originally, until he reached over me and pressed my head down into the cushion, leaving a hand between my shoulder blades to keep me there, my hips grabbed none too gently to raise my bottom high in the air - to present it to him, my ankles separated widely and kept there, by no Earthly force, so that I could not close them.

His hand moved down to curve around my neck as I turned my head so that I was lying on my cheek. I had deliberately chosen to look away from him, but with a soft growl he forced me to turn so that I had no choice but to gaze upon his impressive form - there was no way I could stop him, although I tried, hating the triumphant look on his face as he forced me to submit, even in just that tiny way.

Suddenly, his other hand appeared before my eyes, holding one of the implements he knew I feared the most - a thin leather whip that might be mistaken for a baton. It was no longer or thicker than a conductor's baton, and was quite flexible, and it immediately began to rain Hell on Earth down on against my tender skin, more then supple enough to cling to my curves as it imparted its sizzling imprint to flesh that tried, unsuccessfully with each stroke, to cringe away from its terrible kiss.

It didn't leave bruises like his uniform's thick, stiff leather belt did. It didn't cover - then re-re-re-re-cover - the relatively small area of my behind like his hand did when he spanked me. It didn't leave raised blisters, like the atrocious paddle he'd found online that had little holes drilled into it to cut down on wind resistance.

Instead, it left wickedly thin, raised red welts that crisscrossed each other , each one stinging like a thousand angry bee stings that multiplied to a million at every point where they intersected.

And before he was through, there were more intersections than not.

I was a mess, having begun sobbing almost as soon as he'd shown me the little whip and continuing after he'd stopped, face wet with tears.

Loki squatted in front of me and even as I tried to marshal my defenses - such as were left - I could see that there was not even the slightest scrap of remorse on his face. Instead, what I could see plainly written in his expression and those deep, hypnotic eyes was pure, raw, unadulterated desire.

And when he finally spoke after taking in the sight of me, wrecked as I was, with not a small amount of pride, his voice was low, and rough, and tight with it. "Perhaps next time, my Mariyah, you will do as you are told the first time."

With that he rose to tower above me and began to disrobe as I was forced to watch, embarrassed and ashamed, as the stinging in my backside began to recede just the slightest bit, to be replaced by a desire that mirrored his own.

And perhaps surpassed it, even.

He was magnificent, every inch a male in his prime, from that beautiful, pale chiseled face with its angular nose and strong, stubborn jaw to his wide shoulders, well defined and sexily veined arms, big but elegant hands that could devastate me with pleasure or pain at his will, and a chest with tiny nipples that made me want to run my hands over it and down the highly delineated muscles of his abdomen.

He left the best for last, tugging down his pants and letting himself spring forward out of confinement, magnificent in its powerful length and girth and only getting unbelievably bigger before my eyes.

Knowing I was watching him, he reached down to take himself in hand, a sly smile playing about his lips. "You gaze upon me like a hungry she-wolf."

I couldn't keep myself from licking my lips as I greedily noted that the head of his cock was weeping pre-cum that I desperately wanted to lap off of him, but, try as I might, I couldn't move, and I knew that that was his doing.

The smile became a full blown evil grin as he added, almost casually, "Which I take as a compliment, considering the condition of your bottom."

As soon as he mentioned it - either because he brought it to mind or because he brought it to mind and then added some sort of spell - the stinging, burning ache of the area in question came to the forefront of my mind and my need changed drastically to finding some way to alleviate those sensations - to reach back and rub or sit myself down in a cool bath or anything to make it stop.

But there was nothing.

No relief.

Nothing until he allowed it, and that didn't seem very likely when he was in this kind of a mood.

"I am sure your flesh must be throbbing and aching," he mentioned almost casually as he moved behind me.

I expected him to cup my cheeks, perhaps squeezing them cruelly.

But instead what he cupped was the quim his magicks held wide open for him - my legs spread uncomfortably wide, leaving me obscenely exposed to him and whatever he wanted to do to me as his hand explored me rudely - I'm sure he would have characterized it merely as possessively - taking none of his usual care with my tenderest bits, fingers rubbing and exploring all of me, stem to stern, pausing not to tease my clit playfully as he might usually, but instead pinching its prominence hard between his thumb and forefinger, then moving quickly down to jam three fingers into me.

I didn't - couldn't - hold back my startled cry, and he didn't stifle his soft laugh at it, either.

Had I not been held down by unseen forces, I would have arched up and away from that forceful invasion, but as it was I could only lie there, helplessly offering myself up for more of the same, which he was only too happy to provide, pumping his fingers into me so hard and fast that - despite the initial true discomfort - I was brought near to the edge in a humiliatingly short amount of time.

And my embarrassment was compounded by the fact that I couldn't stop the groan from escaping my lips when he withdrew, or, worse, when he began to tsk down at me and I knew, somehow, that the bastard was shaking his head at the same time in mock disappointment. "I do not think I realized just how delightfully whorish Midgardian women were until I met you, Mariyah. It is as plain to see as the slick coating of your juices on my fingers that you thoroughly enjoyed that punishment."

He bent down in front of me and I saw his glistening wet fingers disappear between those luscious lips of his. Somehow, I found defiance within me again closed my eyes against that shamefully sexy sight - until he wrenched my head back violently by gripping the hair at the back of my skull. Still, he did not raise his voice, although the words sounded as if they were ground out from between clenched teeth. "Open your eyes or I shall beat you until you _beg_ me to allow you the privilege of proving your complete submission to me."

Wondering if I had pushed him too far, I caved. I hated myself for it, but I opened my eyes, and the sight that greeted them did nothing to assuage the tingles of true fear that had only been nibbling around the edges of my mind until now.

But now they bloomed as his voice boomed inside my head and around the entire world, it seemed.

"You have no idea with whom you are toying, little girl. I am not some tame house cat. I am not some puny Midgardian male come to beg for your favors. I am a Prince of Asgard. I am a God - I am _your_ God," he corrected pointedly "And it is about time you began to realize that and treat me with the deference that I deserve."

With that, I felt the first of untold swathes of pure agony slash down across my already beleaguered cheeks. He was unrelenting and unmerciful, as close to pure Loki as I had probably ever experienced him, I realized later.

Much later.

When I could think of something other than the searing field of torment that had been my backside.

I couldn't put together a coherent thought as he flogged me - with what I had no idea. I just knew I was in a world of pain beyond anything I'd ever felt before and I would have done anything - _g_ \- to get it to stop.

I had never experienced such a blatant example of just how truly powerless I was at his hands until then.

And when it stopped, he did two things at once that startled me away from drowning in my misery: he reached down and jerked me up against him by my hair, holding me there, back forcibly arched, breasts bobbing prominently, as he rammed himself into me, fully seating himself in one brutal thrust.

My hands were magicked behind me, plastered to his sides. I was surprised to feel the tightness of the way he was holding me ease some, but not enough to be able to do anything to stop him or even begin to soften those the bone jarring blows his cock was delivering to my shamefully willing body. The harder he fucked me, it seemed, the less care he took with me, the more I liked it, the higher my passion for him flared, frighteningly so, to the point where I was almost more scare of my reactions to the way he was treating me than I was of Loki himself.

And I quickly realized that he had loosened the restrictions on my movements just enough to give me the hope of freeing myself, only to realize - after I'd nearly exhausted myself in the trying - that, of course, he was never going to let me go.

The hand that had been at the base of my skull, cruelly using my hair to force my neck into an unnatural arch left that hold and took another, much more menacing one around my neck, although his touch was contrarily almost gentle as his fingers closed slowly around that slender column until he could feel me fighting for each panting breath, his mouth nibbling along my shoulder almost lazily.

His free hand groped my breasts - there was no other way to describe it. He had absolutely no care for what he knew I liked. He did as he wanted, grasping my nipples in turn with the tips of his fingers pressing against the heel of his hand - taking a large amount of flesh and squeezing it terribly hard, pulling and twisted as if he wanted to separate it from my body, thoroughly enjoying my squeals and whimpers as he did so.

But it didn't linger long there, instead travelling - threateningly slowly - down over my ribs, over my tummy to that area low between my hips, hovering over a pussy that he continued to pound unrelentingly into before descending on it like a Vandal sacking Rome, punishing that little button, pressing it hard, fit to crush it, pinching it painfully and laughing at my distress, having my lips spread wide as if there were others with us who were holding them open, then bringing the flat of his fingers down onto it sharply, swatting my clit lightly at first and then harder as I keened loudly and writhed as much as I could, still unable to avoid any of the blows he was delivering to my sensitive parts - from the front or from the back.

His lips found my ear and he whispered huskily - a sign that he was far from unaffected by what he was doing, which made me feel a little better - "Shall we make a wager as to whether or not I could make you cum - despite how widely you are split around me to accommodate my girth in your tiny passage, how awfully that lovely behind of yours must hurt every time I slap against it as I fuck you, or how callously I am treating the source of your pleasure?"

To my horror, I realized that - even considering everything he'd listed that he was doing to me - or perhaps, more accurately because of it - I was shamefully close to orgasming.

I heard his quick indrawn breath and new he'd come to the same conclusion. "Or perhaps the better wager would be how _long_ it will take me to do so, hmmmm?"

I fought it - I fought it as hard and as long as I could, and he knew I was. But he could be patient.

He _would_ be patient.

He would win.

He knew he would always win, that he would always impose his will on me.

And so did I.

That was one of the biggest factors of my arousal, if I admitted it to myself, and I didn't like to.

He drove me inexorably towards the edge, maintaining an iron control on himself as he did so, lasting much, much longer than anyone else I'd ever been with in order to prove his point, to force me to submit, to subjugate me.

I knew he considered it to be the ultimate triumph - to force me to orgasm, and, although I occasionally fought him, the conclusion was foregone.

I would yield to him.

I would always yield to him.

In every way.

My mind.

My heart.

And especially my body.

When the end was near - he knew the signs well by now - he began to speak to me. "You should know better than to resist me, Mariyah."

His touch on my abused clit had morphed into a teasing, rhythmic rubbing that was all that much more effective because of how sensitive he'd made me by treating me so roughly, those fingers sliding back and forth over me, lightly sometimes, less so others, and as my taut as a bowstring body behind to betray me in the most primal way and my world began to dissolve around me, he whispered into my mind and my ear as I screamed bloody murder in the depths of my explosive ecstasy, " _My will be done_."

I was dimly aware that we came apart together, that he shouted his own triumph seconds after I began to carry on as if he was murdering me, my screams not dying down for quite some time after he had brought me to more peaks than I could count, pulling them out of me even when I would have said that it was impossible until I was a limp dishrag in his arms.

We were suddenly in our big bed and he was holding me close, petting and patting me, soothing with tender kisses and soft nothings murmured against my temple, long sure strokes of those terrible, wonderful hands down the curve of my back, easing the tensions his efforts had created in my muscles.

"You are magnificent, my love, every time. Each time I think I'm sated, that I've had my fill of you, but the hunger is always there, even in the depths of the Paradise I never fail to find with you. I will never have enough of you," he whispered, kissing me in a tender manner that, minutes ago I would have sworn he was incapable of.

I blushed, surprised I was still capable of it with him, my heart aching at his eloquent, heartfelt confession

"Sleep," he commanded gently.

I opened my eyes and my mouth to protest, but he raised an eyebrow at me and reached down to cup my thoroughly ruined butt.

I closed both my eyes and my mouth immediately and snuggled into him, fake snoring loudly and falling asleep to the sound of his deep chuckle.


End file.
